The Artifact

by Quinn, Jack

  Having sold my large home there when we left, I rented a modest apartment in Sepphoris to contemplate what I would do. I had been nearly celibate while living with mother and Mary, all the while yearning for some sort of quasi-romantic relationship. Despite the unconscionable outcome of my assignation with Tanya in Jerusalem, I knew I would forever nurture the ache in my heart at our hopeless circumstances. I also realized that my leg was a barrier for consideration by most women, preventing them from considering me a serious life-partner, their fathers reluctant to force a crippled former gladiator as husband on their daughters, no matter his wealth. Not withstanding the odds, I did wish to find a pleasant female companion to brighten whatever time was before me on earth. At my advanced age of thirty-six years, a young widow or impoverished family might constitute my best prospects for which I would need to engage a professional matchmaker. So be it.

  First, however, I would learn the state of affairs with Yentl after my six-year absence and determine if she yet held a grudge for my last drunken visit. Although I did not love Yentl with the same mindless passion as Tanya, she suited me. Her intelligence, wit, practicality, the firm body of a woman ten years younger, her abandon in bed drew me to her like a moth to the flame. I knew her visage did not appeal to others as it did me, but I could gaze forever on her prominent nose, her impish expressions, the squint of her eyes, her peculiar smile.

  Returning to her previous home in the lower city, I learned from neighbors that she had moved to another house closer to the center, and upon reflection, decided that she might accept my visit more readily if I confronted her on the open street rather than her dwelling. Once I found the address of her improved domicile, I lingered up the avenue to await her exit.

  “Good day, my beauty,” I said, walking along beside her among others strolling or riding along the narrow street.

  If she was startled at my appearance after my long absence, she did not reveal it. “You always turn up so unexpectedly, Shimon.”

  I knew not if she referred to our original meeting, my return from Rome, the night Stephen tried to save me from the Romans, or my last appearance when I struck her. “As a dented coin.”

  She was dressed in the fashion of Rome, a clean white stolae without veil, turning to smile at me. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  “Will you stop for a glass of tea with me?”

  “Tea?”

  “Wine has not touched my lips for many years.”

  Yentl cast a hard stare in my eyes evaluating that. “I am on my way to purchase flax.”

  “Another time, perhaps?”

  We had come upon a grassy park with trees, a running fountain and stone benches. “We can sit here for a moment if you wish.”

  She chose a bench in the shade on which we settled ourselves before she continued. “You did not seek me out just for a glass of tea, Shimon.”

  I laughed a bit at her forthright manner. “We used to get on quite well.”

  She looked off in the near distance where children were playing at some game under the gaze of their mothers or nurses. “A long time ago.”

  “I had the idea that what was once, might be again.”

  She laughed, turning to me with an arched look. “Do you intend to court me?”

  “You are not a shy woman.”

  “I have been forced to be a woman of independence, to look to myself and be wary of the promise of vague relationships.”

  “Your circumstances seem to have improved.”

  “By my own wit.”

  “How so?

  “The modest sewing service I began after Stephen’s death is now a thriving enterprise with workers producing clothing for all.”

  “And relationships?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I have been wary of them.”

  I think she realized what I was about, though would not make it easy for me, was not interested or undecided. “May I call upon you for a glass of tea or to sup?”

  “To what end Shimon? Our past affairs have always come to grief.”

  “Wherever it leads.”

  “That does not entice me.”

  “By the great beard of Abraham! Do you wish a proposal of marriage on this moment?”

  She laughed again, more at ease now with our reacquaintance and familiar bantering. “I have always liked you, Shimon. More than liked. But if you still wish to bed me without security, thereby confirming my questionable reputation, to secretly disdain me for what you wish to make me--be gone, Shimon.”

  “I would never do that to you!”

  “What, then? I have no father or brothers to fend for me. I will have thirty-nine years next winter, an old widow without honorable past or prospects.”

  I had not thought this encounter would lead to such a profound discussion, so tried to introduce a bit of levity. “We could always plan a lavish wedding, buy a large house and install a dozen children in it.”

  “I am barren since Hezibia, Shimon.”

  Bearing children was the sole purpose of a woman’s existence, and I did not dare speak to it.

  “That would not dissuade me from...a relationship of permanence.”

  She rose, rearranging her stolae about her hips. “If you wish to pursue me with the possibility of marriage this time, Shimon, ponder the issues of our past and future with care.”

  I stood, shaking my head in wonder at this indomitable female whose candor and intellect I realized I had missed far more than I could ever have imagined. “I will send a slave with a note for our next meeting.”

  She ran her fingers down my cheek in a manner of affection, her eyes moist. “Do not bother, if you have the slightest misgiving regarding my requirements.”

  As was my habit, I rode early in the morning before the heat of day for my own pleasure and Nubia’s exercise, both enjoying our brisk canter across grazed fields and tall grass of meadows in bright sunshine. On one occasion, shortly after I began courting Yentl, Judah emerged from a small copse of pines. He nodded a silent greeting as he rode along with me toward a wooded area to the east of Shefar’am where he reined in his mount. I had not encountered the rebel leader since our meeting at Passover in Jerusalem those distant years ago. I was certain he knew the reason for my absence on the night before the crucifixion of my brother, and the guilt I bore for the responsibility of his death. He was attired as usual in a hooded robe of coarse wool, the hilt of his dagger outlined beneath it under a belt of twisted hemp.

  “Welcome back to Palestine,” he said.

  “It is good to be home.”

  He dismounted and I likewise, walking our horses at the berm of the wood, the Galilean getting straight to his point as was his wont. “I assume you will return to the craft of your father.”

  “I do not have his skill or the interest.”

  “What then?”

  I sensed what he was about, and although it had been an occasional thought over the past few years, I had not come to a conclusion of it. “I may be wed soon.”

  Judah laughed. “I have never heard marriage called an occupation, but that may be an appropriate designation after all.”

  “It is not assured. My betrothed has a successful cloth enterprise for which I might secure new customers. She would hire assistant weavers to produce more robes I could sell from a stall in the marketplace. Or I might hire out as tutor in languages.”

  “Or swordsmanship.”

  “I am done with that.”

  “There is a rebellion afoot, Shimon. We could put your experience to great use.”

  “A rebellion,” I repeated. “Like my brother’s ‘end of the world?’”

  I regretted that as soon as the words had passed my lips.

  “He would have been with us.”

  “Consider where his subtle message led him.”

  “However, Shimon, we are speaking of you.”

  “I will not stab unsuspecting Pharisees and Romans in a crowd.”

  “I have another task in mind
that will be critical to our success,” he said. “For which you are particularly suited.”

  In fact, the idea possessed a strange appeal for me from his initial utterance. A credible Jewish rebellion against the might of Roman legions would require an armed force that must hold a reasonable chance of victory. The time to strike, Judah told me, would require two components: a conquering Empire otherwise preoccupied in their vast dominion, and a sufficient number of trained rebels.

  My assignment would be to recruit such a force of committed Jews throughout Palestine, train their leaders in swordsmanship and the basic battle tactics I had learned from Fabian in Vespasian’s courtyard and my years fighting for my life in the Circus. Judah predicted correctly that any local assemblage that I gathered could be explained as a meeting of the incipient Jesist sect my brother’s followers were attempting to proselytize, and my work canvassing the area for affluent customers for Yentl’s elegant attire, both providing a rational excuse for my itinerant movement.

  After spending goodly time with Yentl during my courtship and our betrothal, it amazed me how alike we were in our thinking and our natural consideration of one another. Although literate in Aramaic and Greek, Yentl had little tutored education, yet a profound sense for analyzing issues, which almost invariably led her to the most effective conclusions, whether in her business or our personal lives. Despite my own extensive studies in philosophy, I quickly learned to defer to her judgment, becoming her willing partner in executing her ideas and suggestions. Upon the realization of our mutual devotion, we began planning how we would manage our lives together and define what Yentl termed our ultimate ‘goals.’

  Forthrightness and full discussion had never been one of my character traits, but were two qualities on which Yentl insisted for our intended lifelong partnership. One of the first concerns she raised was where we would live. At first I thought she meant where in Sepphoris, but her vision was wider than that. Considering the knowledge of our tainted backgrounds by the neighbors and gossips who knew of us, she reasoned that a move from Sepphoris would benefit our union. Jerusalem, of course, was the capital, religious center, hub of commerce and heart of the country. Yentl anticipated that her business would enjoy substantial growth by relocating in that highly populated area, especially my efforts securing new clients. I would travel away from home a good deal, but she could accompany me often as she built her hired weaving and sewing staff. We had agreed we were not young lovers with a need to copulate every night, but mature adults confident in our mutual trust to bear those separations with a certain élan. In addition to which, her daughter Hezekiah had been wed at the age of fifteen three years ago and was living with her merchant husband and son in Datrana in the south.

  As part of the avowed candor between us, I finally, although with some trepidation, told Yentl about the assignment I had all but accepted from Judah. She listened without comment through my entire recitation, nodding in understanding at the proposed elements of the plan Judah and I had discussed; then posed several questions and cited potential problems neither the Galilean nor I had thought of.

  At length, she asked, “Do you seek my agreement to this endeavor or is this revelation for my information only?”

  “If you are in strong disagreement,” I answered, uncertain if my words were true, “I will learn if I can help in some other way.”

  She studied my expression. “You are fervent to do this, am I correct?”

  “If there is to be a rebellion against Roman rule, I wish to be part of it. If all Jews did naught when called to prepare for that day they will prevent it from happening or ensure our defeat.”

  “You are probably one of the most experienced fighters of all the Jews in Palestine.”

  I waited for her decision in silence.

  “I would not be able to hold my head high among Jews if I attempted to discourage you from this. Do it Shimon. It will make me proud.”

  At that point in our lives, I never knew which way that wonderful woman would turn, but during the years after, I learned. That conversation took place one evening as we lay in our bed in the darkness before sleep. I turned to embrace her in appreciation of her loyal support of my obligation. Her response warm, her whisper chiding. “The next time you have a momentous decision to contemplate, I should learn of it immediately.”

  All things being relative, the years following our private wedding at which James officiated, were the happiest and most fulfilling of my life.

  Yentl rightly reasoned that the city of Jerusalem itself might not be the best place for us to settle, for it would contain too many memories of my brother’s death. His followers there would surely badger me about joining their midst; in addition to which, it was the seat of power of the Sanhedrin, with a high concentration of Roman troops and functionaries, all of whom would keep me under close scrutiny, none of which would be conducive to my peace of mind, nor possibly, my safety.

  Tel Gezer, a modest town at the crossing of two trade routes was our choice of residence, where Yentl chose a spacious house in the countryside that would serve as our home, accompanied by land on which to construct outbuildings for the planned expansion of her garment business.

  Shortly after we arrived, I made the half-day journey to the capital to the east under the pretext of advising James of my new address, but actually to allay my disquiet regarding a letter I had received some months ago from a man named Saul. After searching James out at his duties in the Temple, we strolled through the various courtyards in family gossip until I broached the subject of my concern.

  “What do you know of this Jesist sect that continues the preaching of Yehoshua?”

  “They prefer the Greek word, ‘Christianoi’.”

  “What by the great beard of Abraham do they expect to achieve by clinging to the mortified memory of a crucified rabbi?”

  James was clearly uncomfortable with his next statement. “Peter claims to have seen him resurrected.”

  “James, please!” I am sure I sounded exasperated. “The brother we have known from childhood returned from the dead?”

  “Others have also professed it.”

  “Saul, the maker of tents from the city of Tarsus?”

  “He is also a fervent rabbi and accomplished lawyer who was my student for a time in the Temple school.”

  “A rabbi claims to have seen Yehoshua after death?”

  James appeared embarrassed in answering. “Saul persecuted Christianoi ferociously before being struck blind outside Damascus, claiming to have seen and spoken to the risen Jesus. When he regained his sight he became an ardent apostle of our brother’s teachings.”

  “But Yehoshua has not revealed himself to you or mother or Mary. Or to me, I assure you.”

  “The ways of Yahweh are seldom clear.”

  “You are involved in this sect?” I asked him.

  “I have always known that Jesus had special qualities. The ‘mission’ he spoke of. The sense he made of our rigid laws.”

  “How do you reconcile attempting to subvert those laws, yet continuing as a Temple priest?”

  “I am grappling with that, Little Brother.”

  “You have made the acquaintance of this Saul?”

  “He came back to Jerusalem some months ago to converse with Peter and others about the true interpretation of the preaching of Jesus.”

  I could not restrain my laughter. “A man who never met him, never heard him speak is interpreting the meaning of our brother’s spoken words?”

  “He possesses a greater intellect than most of the original disciples.”

  “He wrote a letter to me suggesting that as his younger brother, Yehoshua must have appeared to me also. He urged that I desist from my materialistic endeavors and join the sect to proselytize Yehoshua’s teachings, and contribute all my wealth to converting new followers.”

  James sense of humor was evident in his barely suppressed grin. “The man is not shy.”

  “I think this Christianoi group insult�
��s his memory. An attempt to convince the masses to embrace the teachings of a crucified rebel they claim has risen from the dead will make him look a fool in history.”

  James changed the subject. “What of your association with Judah? Cowardly Sicarii who stab and run.”

  “I refuse to do that.”

  “But you condone it. Murder.”

  “Is it worse than what the Romans do to us? Poor little Rebekah?”

  “Some nights I am convinced that is what drove Jesus to his mission.”

  “Judah and his Zealots may be doing more for the memory of Jesus than your Christianoi.”

  “Jesus taught peace and love toward all.”

  “Do you wish all Jews to remain under the Roman yoke forever? Yehoshua did not.”

  “God will intervene.”

  “Of course. His chosen people upon whom He has descended plague, famine, flood, defeat, egregious taxes and poverty. Have I left anything out?”

  James reached a hand out to my shoulder to show me no malice in his words. “You have always been contentious, Shimon, angry at God. I have considered the teachings of our brother long and carefully. It is a path of hope toward an ultimate peace I find comforting to follow.”

  We walked in silence for a time, comfortable in our physical company, awkward in our divergent beliefs. It has always been a wonder to me that members of the same family, born under one roof, raised by the same parents, exposed initially to the same opinions, schooling and environment can often emerge as adults with such differing philosophies.

  When we stopped for a cup of tea at a food vendor in the Upper City, I was still preoccupied with the letter from Saul, and pressed James for additional information about this upstart who seemed intent upon mocking Yehoshua’s life. James revealed that Saul had returned to Arabia for several years after his ‘vision’ before coming to Jerusalem to seek out Peter, who at that time had returned to his family and fishing business in Capernaum. Instead, he found James, from whom he essayed to learn the teachings of Jesus from one who had known and heard him. The story of this so-called resurrection seemed to be an embarrassing, closely-held secret by the followers of Jesus only, never in my lifetime acknowledged by the general population. In fact Josephus, the defected Jewish general/historian, alluded to Jesus only once in a tract written in the mid-70s, some forty years after my brother’s execution. That entry merely stated that the rogue rabbi had been crucified, nothing more.